


I'll Always Be Around

by stilinskitrash



Series: gendrya one shots [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Friendship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, One Shot, Pining, Sickfic, arya is ill and gendry tries to be helpful, mainly fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: “Please entertain me,” she tried to put on her best puppy-like expression, but the runny nose and sickly complexion probably ruined it a little.Somehow, Gendry was convinced.





	I'll Always Be Around

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this in one go and haven't read it back because i was overcome with gendrya hope and emotions so TAKE MY TRASH

Arya was in no state to answer the door.

She was dressed in little more than an oversized t-shirt of Robb’s, no trousers, and wrapped in the thickest blanket she could find. Her temperature was through the roof, and Catelyn had quarantined her to the house whilst the rest of the family went about their days. By 10AM she was already agonisingly bored. 

Maybe the stranger at the door would bring entertainment. Some post? Someone selling something? Someone collecting for charity? Whoever it was, she wasn’t far off being tempted to invite them in for a cuppa and a chat. Anything that meant not watching another rerun of The Jeremy Kyle Show, really.

Dragging herself to the door, blanket clutched tightly around her, Arya peaked through the eyehole. The figure was too tall for their face to be visible.

She sniffled as she undid the latches, and swung the door open to a very bemused looking face.

He took a step back. “Oh, Arya.”

“ _ Gendry? _ ” Arya’s brow knitted, “why are you here? Jon’s at work.”

“Ah, oh. Oh.” he seemed at a loss for words. She watched him take in her dishevelled appearance with concern and confusion. “You alright?”

“Fine.” she asserted, through a blocked nose and dry throat.

Gendry raised a brow. “Sure.” he nodded, unconvinced. “Will you tell Jon I stopped by?”

Arya lunged out at him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket and hauling him onto the other side of the door frame.

“Jesus!”

“Please entertain me,” she tried to put on her best puppy-like expression, but the runny nose and sickly complexion probably ruined it a little.

Somehow, Gendry was convinced.

He looked around the house with uncertainty, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Are you home alone?”

Arya headed for the living room, expecting him to follow. “Yeah, no one else wants to be ill and they all have lives apparently.” she narrowed her eyes at him. “You might get ill, you know.”

Gendry sat himself on the sofa opposite her tissue ridden one. “Not if I stay over here.”

She pouted like a child who hadn’t gotten their way. “How will you entertain me from so far away?”

“With my charming conversation?”

Scoffing, Arya threw a used tissue in his direction. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Oh, sorry,  _ m’lady _ , didn’t realise my banter wasn’t adequate enough for you.”

A variety of insults and comebacks flew through her sickness ridden mind. “You’re… you’re dumb.”  _ yeah, nice one _ . She crossed her arms and turned away from him, towards the TV. On screen, Jeremy Kyle was just about to bring out the lie detector results.

Gendry had known the Stark family since Arya was very small. Her father, Ned, used to run a community programme for disadvantaged kids, and a handful of them came from an orphanage in their city. One of those orphans was Gendry, who back then was a bullheaded and often confused boy with a mop of black hair. Not much had changed since. Ned often got his own children involved in the programme, taking them on days out with the other kids and to activities, and through it her half brother, Jon, became close with Gendry. 

They’d never gotten on peacefully, although they did sort of get on. They insulted and chastised each other, pranked and teased one another, but Arya liked his company. He became part of the family, in a weird way.

“You want me to make you some soup?” he offered, dragging Arya away from the TV.

“What kind?”

“Uh, depends what you have in.”

“Everything.” she rolled her eyes exaggerating only slightly. They were a homely family, one who loved to cook and have family meals together. 

“Leek and potato?”

“Gross,” she faked puking.

“Tomato?”

“No.”

“Pea?”

“Double no.”

“Carrot?”

Arya paused. “Yeah.”

“Alright. God, no please or thank you, I thought you were raised a lady,  _ m’lady _ .”

She flung a pillow at him, “ _ please _ .”

“Was that so hard?” he grinned, and something about it made Arya feel warm and cosy all of a sudden. There was a kindness and a familiarity to his smile.  _ He should smile more _ , she thought absently, before feeling weird for even having thought that and blaming it on her being ill.

In the kitchen, Arya picked up on the faint sound of someone singing. Gendry must’ve turned the radio on. The living room door was wide open, and the kitchen was only across the hall. She suddenly became much more interested in straining to hear it than the TV, and she switched to the other side of the sofa to do so. It was a man’s voice.

“My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down, I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.” 

The words were sweet and soft, the singing low, almost a hum with how deep it sounded. But soft nonetheless.

“For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.”

It also sounded old. What kind of station was he listening to that played medieval ballads? Some kind of indie folk station?

“And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.”

Slinking off the sofa, Arya dragged herself and her blanket out of the living room, and hid in the hallway just outside the kitchen door. When she peered in, she was struck by the fact that there was no music, no instruments, and the radio was definitely  _ not  _ on. 

Gendry had his back to her, his jacket now shrugged off to give a better view of his strong, broad shoulders, and the size of his biceps, the fabric of his shirt tight against them. He’d been a skinny kid, but the same couldn’t be said for now. As he chopped the veg for Arya’s soup, he began to sing.

“I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass. But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.”

She would’ve gone unnoticed, creeping on him silently, if not for her cold. Arya let out what had to be one of the biggest sneezes of her life just as he finished the song, and she heard him drop the knife.

Gendry was in front of her in an instant. He eyed her suspiciously.

“Hi,” she sniffed, wiping her nose with her blanket. “How’s the soup?”

“Don’t play innocent,” he squinted, acting tough, but Arya saw the blush in his cheeks. “Did you- did you hear--”

Arya nodded quickly, “yes, but I thought it was the radio so I came to look and it sounded really nice and I wanted to know who it was by.” The words tumbled out as Gendry towered over her. “You have a nice voice, you know. For a dumb bull.”

The corners of Gendry’s mouth quirked into a smile, so fast she nearly missed it.

“Who taught you that song?”

“My mother.”

“Oh.” she’d thought he hadn’t known his mother. Well, she’d  _ assumed _ . Arya had never felt it her place to ask him about his life before becoming an orphan, when he seemed happy with how life was now.

Gendry dragged a hand through his hair and sighed, “she used to sing it to me when I was very young. She sang it every night, and if she hadn’t maybe I would’ve forgotten it. But after she… after she left I would sing it to myself every night, in the orphanage. It felt like a comfort blanket, or a mantra of words that kept me safe. It’s just soothing. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Arya shook her head adamantly, “no, I loved it. Really. Could you sing it again?”

He raised a brow at her, “honestly?”

“ _ Please _ .” she smiled jokingly, and it infected Gendry.

“Alright, once I’ve finished m’lady’s food, maybe I’ll entertain you with a song.”

It turned out that Gendry was an unusually good cook, or at least very good at cooking carrot soup. He served himself and Arya some in bowls he found in their cupboard, and settled down this time on the opposite side of the same sofa as Arya.

“You can cook  _ and  _ you can sing?”

Gendry laughed, “not sure about the singing, but I’m working my way up to Gordon Ramsay status, yeah.”

She punched his shoulder playfully, and felt that warmth again. 

Once they’d finished the soup, Arya snuggled up against the arm of the sofa, draped in her blanket and an extra duvet, and propped her legs up on Gendry’s thighs. He’d hardly said anything as they ate, but she kept catching him looking at her with a soft expression that she couldn’t quite read, but liked.

“Sing me the song?” she asked, resting her eyes.

He cleared his throat with uncertainty, “don’t expect too much. You heard me from a distance before.”

“It’s not just about talent. I like the lyrics.” she didn’t mention how it was also nice to hear the song sung by him in particular, how hearing him sing that song and say those words was a nice feeling.

Gendry shrugged, “if you say so. My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down, I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown. For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.”

Underneath the covers, Gendry’s hands drew small, delicate patterns on her ankles and up her calves, absent and soothing.

“And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.”

His touch was both electrifying and calming, but everything about Gendry was an oxymoron. If she didn’t know him, she’d expect him to be stuck up his own ass, boring and airheaded. He was built even stronger and bulkier than her older brothers, but in a slim, muscular way. He could easily overpower Arya, but he never did. Their arguments, although heated, were always fair. And he was handsome; there was no denying that. Even her sister Sansa said so, and Sansa acted like she was the jury on what boys were attractive or not. But Sansa didn’t know Gendry the way Arya did, didn’t understand him like she did.

“I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass. But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.”

Acting on the heat of the moment, Arya sat up and switched positions, leaning her body on Gendry’s and her head against his chest. She felt him freeze up below her, and panicked that she’d made a wrong move.

“Sorry, I know you probably don’t want to catch my cold--”

She felt the reassuring touch of one of his hands against her shoulder. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s fine, really. Get comfy, m’lady.” he smiled, but Arya sensed there was something else there.

Nevertheless, she nestled her head against the fabric of his shirt, one hand draped across his torso as she closed her eyes and breathed in his smell. He smelt like fire, like the blacksmiths he worked at.

“You should come over and tend to me more.” she mused playfully.

Gendry scoffed, but she felt him hold her closer. “Maybe if you were paying me.”

“I’m paying you with my company, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, your sick, unwell company.”

“You said--”

“I know,” he stroked her hair away from her face, “I’m joking. I’d be here anytime you needed me.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Arya’s scrunched her fist up in his shirt, her mind swirling with emotion. 

“You’d look after me even if I was contagious?”

He rolled his eyes, “you  _ are  _ contagious.”

“No, like, disease contagious. Like I had some kind of disease that warranted an actual quarantine.”

Gendry mulled it over before shrugging. “Yeah.” 

“Okay but it’s, like, a deadly disease.”

“Still yes.”

“Like my limbs are falling off.”

Gendry tilted her face towards him, prompting Arya to roll over onto her stomach to face him better. He was looking at her with that same strange expression.

“Why are you trying to get me to say no?”

“I’m not.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“You’re saying you’d risk death for me.”

“Yeah.” he nodded like it was no biggie, his tone airy and nonchalant. He sounded like he’d made his mind up before the conversation.

“Why?”

Gendry gulped awkwardly, looking around the room before finding his way back to Arya’s confused and almost annoyed stare.

“I guess... Life just wouldn’t be the same without you in it.”

Some part of Arya’s mind wasn’t registering what he was saying as sensical, or what it might mean.

“But you’d have Jon. and our whole family. They’d be there for you.” she argued, not really sure why she was pushing the topic so much.

“Well, yeah, he’s not you though, is he?”

Arya’s bottom lip quivered unexpectedly. The combination of her being ill and her sudden emotions in that moment were a little overwhelming. She gripped his shirt tighter. He felt so close to her, close enough that she could hold his face in her hands, feel the stubble on his chin and the curve of his jaw.

“My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down, I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.” he practically whispered the words, one hand cupping her cheek and the other on her leg. 

Despite the sickness, despite the negative voice in the back of her mind, she breached the space between them and kissed him, slow but deliberate. Gendry hardly reacted at first, but as soon as she felt his fingers squeeze her thigh and his lips slant against hers, she surged forward. 

She could tell he was being gentle with her, but all she wanted was for him to take some control, and not treat her like she’d break if he pushed too hard. Arya snaked a hand down his chest before dipping down to get a feel of his crotch above his jeans. 

Gendry recoiled in shock, “woah, easy there.”

“Is that-- was that not okay?”

He kissed his teeth, “no, it was okay. Or, it would be okay if you weren’t so goddamn ill.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Maybe when you’re better.”

Arya resisted pouting frustratedly. “But we can still kiss?”

Gendry was still smiling when their lips met, grinning into the kiss. Arya felt like he could swallow her whole. “I wouldn’t be against it.”

“You’re gonna be  _ so  _ ill tomorrow.” she teased, kissing either side of his face.

Gendry shrugged again, “worth it.”

“I’ll have to nurse you back to health. Karma.” 

“You would be an awful nurse,” he cringed, and kissed her long and hard before she could object. “But maybe you could sing  _ me  _ a song.”

“I like it better when you sing.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow my writing twitter [cvbeswaters](https://twitter.com/cvbeswaters) or on tumblr at [stacygwehn](https://stacygwehn.tumblr.com)


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